


Dances With Wolves

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, up against the Jeep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:57:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles makes his choice: he'll be Derek's prey this time.  It's mating season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dances With Wolves

"We’ve been dancing for a while, haven’t we," Derek barks out against the humid night, and Stiles is all twitches and jitters as he nods in the pitch black.  The Hale house hasn't been illuminated by electricity in years, and Stiles for one hysterical moment is glad for the cover of darkness to hide his want, his need, but of course the werewolf can sense it, smell it, probably taste it on his tongue, and Stiles gulps and tries to fucking calm himself down because seriously, is he twelve?  He vaguely remembers Derek asking him a question, and shifts in the leaves at his feet, making a quiet rustle that sounds like gunfire in the silent twilit hours of the new moon.

"Are you talking jitterbug or Charleston?  Because I definitely failed ballroom dance," the boy in the red sweatshirt laughs, and his laugh is high and uncontrolled, and Stiles wants to  _die_  because in his daydreams when he imagined doing this, imagined finally taking the plunge and saying  _yes_  to Derek, saying  _yes_  to that whole "mate"  _thing_ , Stiles has always imagined it going a little less talking and a little more heavy petting.  But of  _course_  Derek would want to stalk his prey.  Because he's a fucking werewolf.  Classy.

"No," Derek says mildly, appearing as if out of nowhere directly in front of Stiles.  His laughing dies in his throat when the alpha appears, all leather jacket and hard lines and scruff for days and his.

"Not an answer to my question," Stiles breathes, and his voice hitches when Derek presses him against the hood of the Camaro parked in the driveway.  Yes, yes, this is what Stiles had been waiting for, and why, why the hell is this so hot, Stiles has so fucking idea why, but it is and he is beyond gone at this point, and he knows Derek can smell it on him, knows by the red in his eyes.

"No," Derek says, and his voice is rough now, barely in control.  There's something about the new moon, Stiles notes distantly and very cursorily now that Derek is huffing against his neck, marking him,  _claiming_  him, that makes all the wolves a bit twitchy.  But Derek had said that mate claiming had to happen tonight.  So Stiles had come.  Stiles always comes when Derek calls.

"You realize this is me saying yes," Stiles whimpers as Derek presses his face into Stiles's neck, and Stiles is certain that he is going to leave behind hella scruff burn, but that is  _totally_  fine by Stiles, honestly, because it's really, out of his mind hot.  Stiles bucks his hips forward, trying to achieve some heavenly friction against the wall-of-muscle that is Derek Hale—

And then Derek is gone, leaving Stiles whimpering against the car.

"Losing control," Derek growls from about ten feet away, his voice half-wolf, half-human.   " _Fuck_."  And Stiles whines, because Derek cursing is now on his "Things That Turn Him On" list that he keeps on his mental rolodex of things to jerk off to.

"There’s a special hell for people like you," Stiles, his voice half a groan in frustration and need, calls out into the dark.

"Probably," Derek agrees darkly.

Stiles runs his hands through his hair, trying to cool his brain off before it internally combusts.

"So that's a yes," the other man says slowly, as if to confirm it.  Stiles rolls his eyes.

"You know, like you said earlier," Stiles rambles, gesturing wildly with his hands, "kinda been dancing around this one for a few years now.  You've know for what, three years?  I've known for less than one, but that's, you know, something we can work on.  Secrecy."  Stiles pauses when Derek comes back into view, eyes hazel and human.

"Mates don't have secrets," Derek says quietly.

"Thank god, because I'm a fucking terrible liar," Stiles breathes in a laugh, and then he presses a soft kiss against Derek's lips.  The werewolf rumbles but lets Stiles control the embrace, allows Stiles to drift from Derek's lips to the junction between Derek's neck and jawline.  Derek hums happily while Stiles finds a happy home against the scruff with his mouth.

"Our lives," Stiles murmurs against Derek's skin, leaving little bites and nips against the flesh, "are so fucked up," and Derek stiffens, as if waiting for the bomb to drop, "that I think we should be thankful," Stiles continues, punctuating his words with small kisses and love bites, "that at least this," and Stiles pulls back to lay one last kiss on Derek's lips, " _this_  we know is right.  And  _good_.  And  _ours_."

Derek wraps his arms around Stiles's shoulder and buries his head into the crook of his neck.  Stiles thinks that he's whispering the words "thank you i love you" but that could just be the wind. 

**Author's Note:**

> Fills the "Magical Mates/Mating" spot on the bingo board (http://nighimpossible.tumblr.com/image/31374285181). Huzzah!


End file.
